- November 22, 2024
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Ormond Beach Police Cpl. Michael Bakaysa loved the force — and upon his death, his fellow officers ensured the force was with him.
About 300 law enforcement vehicles and motor units made up the procession to Bakaysa's funeral service on Thursday, Dec. 7, held at the Daytona Beach Drive-in Christian Church. The community stood on the sidewalks on Granada Boulevard and watched the procession cross the bridge, the American flag flying high from the ladders of two Ormond Beach Fire Department trucks.
Bakaysa died on Friday, Dec. 1 after a medical incident following a training session two weeks prior. He was 54 years old and had worked for OBPD for over 27 years.
"Everyone that wears a badge, or a star, knows this one truth: When you leave for work, there is no guarantee that you will make it home," Ormond Beach Police Chief Jesse Godfrey said during the service. "Those heroes put their lives on the line every time they cross the threshold of their homes to protect and patrol our streets."
For a police chief, Godfrey said, Bakaysa was the best patrol officer anyone could ask for.
"I never heard him complain," he said. "He never got into any trouble, and I knew that he was that informal leader on the night shift that almost every department has. He was the voice of reason and he had the institutional knowledge behind most of the decisions being made."
Godfrey described him as humble, hard-working and a "true professional."
Bakaysa was hired on Aug. 4, 1996, as a community service officer. As a teen, he had been part of the Police Explorers program with the Volusia Sheriff's Office. During his 27-year career, he also worked as an emergency communications officer and a field training officer. As a patrol officer, he always worked the midnight shift — by choice.
Assistant City Manager Claire Whitley said Bakaysa made a profound impact on the community during his 27 years on the police force.
"His kindness, bravery and dedication were unparalleled," Whitley said. "He will forever be a guiding light in our community."
Capt. DW Smith said Bakaysa never asked for a promotion, despite the number of people he helped and the impact he made on the patrol units he mentored. He shared a story of Bakaysa saving a couple from a burning townhouse many years ago, using a 10-foot aluminum ladder a neighbor threw over the fence.
"He literally saved two people from a burning building that night and didn't want a lick of credit for it," Smith said. "He never wanted any recognition. He showed up every shift, dependable, reliable and simply did his job."
Smith asked Godfrey to posthumously promote Bakaysa to the rank of corporal. Godfrey agreed.
When a person becomes a police officer, they choose other officers to act as liaisons to their family in case of an emergency. Those forms are sealed and locked until something happens, Smith said. When they opened Bakaysa's about three weeks ago, he saw that Bakaysa had chosen him and Sgt. Ray Llanes.
Smith met Bakaysa when he first joined the department, as Smith had been hired as a community service officer in January of 1996. They hit it off immediately, Smith said, and during their time as dispatchers, they spent a lot of time talking all things nerdy — Star Wars, Transformers, Back to the Future.
And from the beginning, Smith said, they both knew they would be sworn cops one day.
"The work we were doing at the time, as hard as it was, was a rite of passage to become sworn," Smith said.
Giving rookie cops a nickname was also a rite of passage, and Smith gave Bakaysa his: Chewie.
Why? Bakaysa loved Star Wars, was "built like a wookie" and the first four letters of his last name sounded like Chewbacca.
"Chewie ran with his nickname," Smith said. "He embraced it. Clearly, I messed up, because you're not supposed to enjoy your rookie name as much as Chewie did."
He signed notes in the office as Chewie. Even changed his email to the nickname.
In his memory, his fellow night shift officers have created a "Team Chewie" special patch to wear: a caricature of Chewbacca with the thin blue line police badge, and Bakaysa's badge number.
LLanes met with Bakaysa seven years ago when he started working with OBPD after retiring from the Miami Dade Police Department. When Bakaysa was assigned as one of his field training officers, Llanes was told he was a man of few words.
"My response was, 'Well, he's met his match. I'm a man of many words,'" Llanes recalled.
And during that first assignment together, Llanes said he talked his ears off. They became friends, bonding over cigars and '80s pop culture, and later worked on the same shift.
"Officer Bakaysa was not only a friend, he was also my senior officer," Llanes said. "He was my rock and the one I could bounce questions off regarding policy, previous department practice and anything that had to be done correctly. He was instrumental in my development as a sergeant and learning how to do things the Ormond way."
Capt. Chris Roos, looking out at the crowd that gathered for the funeral service, said Bakaysa would probably have been annoyed at it all. He never wanted the spotlight.
"Although he never wanted to be the center of attention, Mike was definitely a leader, trainer and mentor for the men and women he worked with," Roos said.
Bakaysa prided himself of training new hires and junior personnel, Roos added. In his final days, he was still training. Roos said that when he visited him in the hospital during his final days, one of the nurses tending to him was in training.
"A few days later, I shared this story with Mike's wife Jennifer, who agreed — that was Mike, teaching 'till the end," Roos said.
Instead of saying goodbye to Mike during his remarks, Roos said the most fitting thing he could recite was the Star Wars Jedi Code:
"There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force."